


Love's Possession

by HouseOfCrows



Category: Original Work, Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Anal Play, BDSM, Choking, Dubcon if you squint, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical Slavery, M/M, Various Kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfCrows/pseuds/HouseOfCrows
Summary: AU to my -Dominus- fic, and a continuation of the Fionnbharr/Evander pairing from Elskede. This will probably end up violent. Oh fucking well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Elskede : Pageboy Warrior King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055501) by [HouseOfCrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfCrows/pseuds/HouseOfCrows). 



> This story is an AU to -Dominus- and will make sense if you've read the first two chapters of it, at least. {WIP}
> 
> "What would have happened if Ryan hadn't submitted to Justinian, and been sold in Rome?" Along with potentially being given a Roman name and his hair being shorn, he would have likely ended up someplace much, much different than as the bed slave of a {potentially} over-indulgent Patrician.   
> He might have ended up in a very, very different place indeed.  
> \--  
> The OCs and historical mistakes belong entirely and solely to me.... any recognizable characters belong to history, or to HBO's ROME, depending on how you look at it~ Regardless, I do not own them.

_All To Their Place_

 

After Gaius Caesar's return to Rome from Greece, the streets were a riot of color. As the city held its breath in anticipation of the Triumph, Fionnbharr walked the Forum. With the approach of Caesar's triumph, people were crowding the Forum in search of clothing, jewelry, and other goods to help with the coming social upheaval of such an event. A man in his mid thirties, Fionnbharr had joined the Roman army at the first opportunity- The promise not only of citizenship but basic rights had appealed to the young Keltoi, and so he had signed his life away. At the end of his required service, and as a part of the political and social triumph that was Caesar's return, his entire regiment was being gifted their freedom and rights as Roman Citizens. Should he decide to re-enlist, it would be as a free man and a Roman Citizen. IF he decided to re enlist... the Legio III Gallica had been good to him. Better than many auxiliary legions had been to his countrymen. And, should he decide to join Caesar again, he would be made  _Evocati_.... The thought appealed. For now, though, he thought of little else but spending the spoils of eight years away.

A careful and canny man, who sold his services often to those too lazy or unskilled to keep their own gear, he had made out better than many. For sharpening swords and renewing the tack of the Equestrian units in Gaul, he had been paid, if not handsomely, fairly and well. So he wandered through the Forum, eventually finding himself in the slave markets. As part of his agreement with Rome, he had been given land, as well as his citizenship. A good farm, outside Rome, in the fertile hills. A place such as that would require slaves. 

He had taken as many as a man of his rank of Centurion could, but it would do him no good to keep untried and rebellious Gauls, even on a piece of land owned by a Gaul. So as he had them sold, his wealth had increased yet again. With the money, he'd started a smithy in the Aventine, a genteel public face for the services he'd gained in the Legions of Rome. 

~*~

The slave market was a noisy place, raucous with the cries of vendors and masters vying for a better price and often as not, getting nowhere. It was nearing late afternoon when Fionnbharr finally spotted the one he wanted. A small, long-limbed creature with vague definition in his muscles and eyes like the raging sea. The bidding was low enough; for the most part considered unskilled save for his musical talent, no prized beauty though he bore the requisite pale skin, and less than year as a slave of Rome. He was being sold by another soldier, one Justinian Titus of the Claudii. Knowing him to be a reasonable man of the Thirteenth, it stood to reason that the slave would be of; if not docile; even temperament. As he bore no "FVGITIVUS" tattoo upon his body, Fionnbharr found himself will to take the risk. The boy was compelling, even if he were not considered a prize, and the way he looked over the crowd, instead of lowering his head in fear or shame, bespoke pride. It was enough. 

~*~

Fionnbharr counted out the coins and took the lead tying the boy's hands together before him. He removed the little wax tablet from his neck and returned it to the auctioneer, before dragging the boy out of the busy marketplace and into a quiet side street. He backed his slave against the wall, wrapping the rope around his hand several times while speaking to him quietly. Calmly. 

"So, you are mine now," he said easily, paying little attention to the boy's expression or attitude. "I've bought you, and that is the way of it here. I do not know how you came to be in Rome, and I find myself uncaring of the circumstances of your capture. Your future is here now, and I hold it in my very hands. If you run, you will be caught. If you try to escape me, the law demands your punishment, or your death at my decision. I would rather not have you beaten or killed... your flesh is beautiful to look upon, and I would not have paid so much for you only to have my investment all for nothing." He lifted his gaze from the rope coiled in his fist. "So. What is your answer, boy. Will you submit, or will I sell you back to someone who will be far less kind than I may be...?" 

The boy called Evander shifted against the wall, the stones of it digging into his shoulders uncomfortably. He had listened to the man's speech, understanding the shape of it even if he had not understood every word directly. He had hidden, when the Romans had invaded his village and taken them all for slaves for their rebellion and refusal to pay taxes to Rome. He had tried to serve his first Master, and was unable. He found the sexually demanding officer to be degrading, and humiliating. Here was someone who may well ask the same of him, and yet. And yet, the features were not Roman, though his demeanor and stance left him no doubt that he was yet another soldier. He bit his lip carefully, considering. He could be beaten for answering unsatisfactorily, or perhaps. Perhaps his new master wanted only the truth, and nothing else.   
"....Ita, Domine," he murmured, lifting eyes like moss and growing things cut with blue, to the brilliant green of his captor. "I submit." Fionnbharr laughed quietly, shaking his head.   
"Your Latin needs work, but we will have time."

~*~

The house above the shop was small, if comfortable. It bore a living space, a walled-off bedroom, and a considerable kitchen as well as sleeping spaces for three slaves. Fionnbharr had only the one, for now. He laid the bolt across the door when they had entered, and opened a small chest that lay beside the bed on a shelf, and brought it to the table in the kitchen.  
"I will not have you taken from me, or used in any way save the ones I desire," he said quietly, drawing out a slim metal ring hammered into a band. "This bears my name and marks you as my property. If you are found beyond the Aventine, I will be notified." Evander had no choice but to bow his head and allow it to be fixed around his neck and fastened in place. "You are intelligent, I know. You understand what happens to runaways, and those who do harm," He smiled, before lifting the hem of his tunic and sliding it over his slave's head, baring him to the light. 

Evander felt his muscles tighten, uncertain about the sudden direction his Dominus was taking, but he forced no further physical contact. Instead, he moved towards the end of the room, where a basin of cool water was waiting.  
"Come, boy, or do you intend to stand there?" He blushed, moving quickly across the floor to where Fionnbharr was soaking a piece of soft linen. "Good boy. Time enough for talk, and to understand one another. For now... for now, this is enough."

Evander found himself being bathed, slowly and carefully. The dirt of the markets, the slave pens, and all the long painful road that had gone before. Fionnbharr made much of the bruises and minor wounds he'd suffered, soothing them with water from the basin, wrung out into a bucket on the floor. Finally, he pushed the tangle of hair from his forehead, and ordered him to stand still. He soon returned, carrying shears.   
"Have no fear, my pet. It will soon grow again." He set to cutting the snarls away, until the Keltoi had as short hair as any new soldier. He smiled fondly, brushing it from his shoulders. "There, not so very bad, is it?" 

The slave shook his head, at once grateful for the care and mourning the loss. And yet.... and yet, his Dominus had told him he might grow it long again, perhaps to braid it as he had before his slavery. Fionnbharr saw the battle on his face, and pulled him close, letting the shears fall to the stand holding the basin.  
"Hush, little one. No tears for what is lost. We start anew, yes?" He murmured, before bending the boy over the tub and pouring what water was left over his head to wash away the fallen hair and leave him clean. He left the boy with a linen towel, and took the bucket and the gathered hair to throw them over the balcony. 

While his Dominus was otherwise occupied, Evander dried himself quick and careful. He was grateful to find no nicks or further injuries anywhere, not even a bruise from too-tight a grip on his arm. And, though his wrists were raw from the coarse ropes, his Dominus had done nothing to harm him, really. Only offered dire warnings and calm smiles. This might be a better life, by far... who knew what the future might hold.

~*~

The weeks passed quickly and they fell into a pattern. Fionnbharr rose often with the dawn to heat the forge and the ringing of his hammer could be heard as soon as the Aventine came awake with the bustle of crowds going about their lives and trades. He sharpened swords and created weapons for Caesar's legions, and he mended pots and created chains for the Aventine. From horse shoes to decorative pieces, he plied his trade while Evander tidied the house above, cleaned clothing and bedding, and cooked their meals. At night, the big Gaul pulled him close, and held him there as he slept, waking each morning as they had fallen asleep.  Almost Evander could forget that he was a slave, until some order came or a look of Fionnbharr's made him understand that he was, after all, a slave.

"Boy... do you find me repulsive?" The question came from nowhere, as Fionnbharr was sat at the table, drinking wine and eating the food that Evander had set before him while the boy had an infrequent bath. Evander sunk lower in the water, his hair long enough now to have a wave when it was dry.   
"...No, Domine, I do not find you repulsive-" The Roman rose, wine cup in hand. He strode across to the large wooden tub and knelt beside it, gazing down at the boy within.   
"Why then do you shy away when I look at you?" He reached out, turning Evander's face back towards his own. "You know I find you comely, and yet I have not laid a hand upon you. Do you fear me?" Evander shook his head, mindful of the strong, calloused hand currently gripping his chin. "Then have I offended you in some way?" 

Evander felt the misery coiling in his chest, drawing his arms over himself as if hiding. Fionnbharr sighed heavily, releasing him and made as if to stand. Evander quickly laid a hand on his arm, swallowing hard.   
"Domine, it is... it is not that I do not find you attractive, nor that you have offended me. It is only that... that I am a slave, and should not think so of my Dominus." In truth, lying beside him, night after night, had done little to quell his growing attraction. And the gentle care that Fionnbharr showed him in most things, was a welcome relief. "...If I have given you cause to believe otherwise, I am most sorry, Domine." 

The Gaul shook his head, hiding the amusement in his gaze as he downed what was left of the wine and left the cup beside the tub.   
"Then we have both been suffering in silence, beautiful creature, for I have wanted you in my bed since I laid eyes upon you in the markets." Evander blinked in confusion, before understanding set in. A crimson flush bloomed across his cheeks and he twitched, the water rippling around him.   
"I... I don't-" Fionnbharr slid a hand through his growing hair, tugging gently. He exposed the boy's throat, staring down at him with undisguised desire.   
"You are beautiful. Perfect and pale, the sun does not touch you except to kiss your flesh. Your skin, flawless in its loveliness, and your eyes." Green eyes stared down at him, gazing into his with certainty, "Your eyes are like jewels. Gems full of fire-" The only sound was the Gaul's breath and a low, desperate whine.

Evander melted under that gaze, unable to draw his eyes from Fionnbharr's.   
"Domine-" Fionnbharr's grip tightened in his hair for one brief moment before he caught the boy's wrists, holding them tight before bending down and meeting the boy's mouth with his own. He kissed him roughly, slow and thoroughly, pinned against the side of the tub. Fionnbharr pulled away after a long moment sucking at the boy's lower lip before releasing him. He gazed down at him, with eyes blown wide and dark.   
"I want nothing so much as to make you mine in truth, boy. You will be sharing my bed tonight, I will hear no arguments."

Evander sunk lower in the cooling water, a deep red blush staining his pale cheeks.  
"....Ita, Domine," he managed, his voice hoarse; lips swollen with the man's hard kisses. "As you wish."


	2. Chapter 2

_Under The Silent Moon_

 

The rest of the afternoon, Evander felt little but a thrum of expectant anxiousness that would not dissipate no matter what he attempted. He found himself pausing often in his chores, listening for the ring of the hammer in the forge, the call of voices on the street. Any scrap of sound save his rapidly beating heart and the rush of blood in his ears. Anything that might give away the position of his Dominus, and his intentions. But when any such faded away, he was left again in the ringing silence of the house, with only the city sounds of the Aventine outside their windows. 

When his Dominus returned from the forge and shop out in the courtyard, he shrank back against the wall, uncertain. But the big Gaul said little, only reached for the amphora of wine in its holder, pouring them each a cup, before sitting heavily at the table. He leaned against it, his tanned and sinewy forearms braced against the edge as he drank. He took one long slow swallow, before looking up at the boy, stock still and trembling. Fionnbharr huffed quietly, beckoning. 

"Come, boy, you know well enough by now that I'll not harm you." It was true, in all the weeks that Evander had spent in his home, the Gaul had never lifted a hand to him save once. And that once, he could admit even to himself, was sorely deserved.   
"Ita, Domine." He crossed the floor to the table, plucking the offered cup from the table and drank. The strong flavor and the alcohol hit him at the same time, near strong enough to make him gag. This was not the Patrician's vintage, but the sort that soldiers drank and were grateful for. The broad Gaul only laughed, his eyes brightening in a smile.   
"Aye, it's strong stuff. Come here, Evander." 

His knuckles went white around the cup, a telltale sign for any who cared to see, even in the growing dusk. He should and would obey, he knew, and yet. _And yet_. There hardly seemed a need for the considerate dance the Gaul was laying out before him, Evander belonged to him. The law would turn a blind eye even to his death, as his life lay entirely in the Gaul's work roughened hands. Still, Evander found himself inching around the table, cup in hand, to be brought firmly down into his master's lap. 

"There's a good boy," hot breath tickled against his neck, and he shivered reflexively. "I knew you would obey me, Evander. I know you want to be pleasing, you try so hard-" the words were a low hum in his ear, trembling as those same rough hands moved across his back, stroked his chest, rested lightly at his hips.  
"Domine-"   
"Hush, Evander, there is no need of it." The boy had only just closed his mouth obediently before the blacksmith's lips were on his own, his arms wrapping tight around his waist to pull him closer still. 

It was the sort of kissing he liked, too. Hard and hot and possessive, full of force and command, before he slacks off again; teasing at his lips with his tongue, enticing. There's a hand in his hair and he knows he's clutching at the Gaul's shoulders- His tunic is being tugged upwards, hands on his skin, dragging along his thighs, his stomach-   
"Mmh, that's right, little one, yield-" But he can't respond with that mouth on his, the taste of wine and invading tongue, hips pressing upwards against him. Need so terribly evident and yet, welcome too. He whines against his master's lips, pleading, for what he's not entirely sure. There's a feeling like falling, sudden incoherent weightlessness- but it's only his Dominus scooping him up into his arms and carrying him to bed. 

The tunic is the first thing to go. Stripped bare soon after and pressed to the soft furs and giving straw mattress beneath. Fionnbharr is there right behind, hands strong against his chest, holding him there as the Gaul looks him over appreciatively.   
"Still as beautiful as the day I bought you." Fionnbharr's voice is breathy, strained, and the evidence of his master's regard is hot and hard against his thigh. He blushes, ducking his head and hiding against the pillows. "Peace, little one... you will not be harmed." 

How many times have those words left his Dominus' lips? How often has he needed that reassurance and found it, even before he must ask? But then his mouth is there, caressing his neck and throat, the burn of teeth and the dull pain of bruises being sucked into his flesh. Evander's hands clutch at the bedding, hips canting upwards, needy, and find his Dominus' own. Fionnbhar grinds down against him, teeth set against his ear.   
"Ah, there it is. Good," hands wrapped around his wrists, holding him still while Fionnbharr lazily ruts against him. "Good boy. I want to see you come undone before me, to hear you scream and cry out for me; I want your desperation and your desire in equal measure, boy. You will give them to me." 

~*~

Fionnbharr is aching too. His boy is so beautiful like this; bare to his gaze and spread before him like a feast of decadence. His boy will have more than the imprint of teeth and the marks of his hands before it's over and the thought fills him with pleasure. He bends his head, dragging his lips across Evander's collarbone, before sinking his teeth into the curve of his shoulder. The boy's cries, the writhing, his pain; it's nearly enough to make him forget to prepare the boy at all. Nearly. He would not be denied THAT pleasure for all the world, even if the pain of it would be sweet to see. He fumbles for the oil, Evander's dark and blown gaze following him hazily through the ache and burn of the rising bruises and welts.   
"Domine-?" Fionnbhar's hand finds his throat, squeezing slowly and inexorably.  
"I told you not to speak," he says softly, gradually increasing the pressure until the boy is clutching at his wrist. "Hush.... hush, boy, shhhh...." When he releases his grip, the gasp and panting breath is like music. "Mmm... perfection," he claims Evander's mouth in a searing kiss, nipping and sucking at his lower lip while he coats his fingers in the oil. "You are so beautiful, my sweet pet-" 

~*~

The feel of hot, slick fingers against his entrance is enough to make him start, hips jerking against the mattress. But Fionnbharr's hands are there, his arm laid across his hips to hold him still as his fingers slowly work him open. He whines and pants, head tossing on the pillows, hands dragging and tangling in the furs.   
"Gods, you're beautiful like this," His master says softly, increasing the pressure against his hips as he breaches the tight, virginal hole. "Mmmmh, absolute perfection-" And he's writhing, cock so achingly hard where it lies against his belly, smearing clear liquid across his skin.

It burns. It burns and it aches, to be so invaded. But the oil is cool to the touch and his Dominus' hands are warm, oh, so warm- and then there is a burst of pleasure like seeing stars behind his clenched-shut eyes-  
"That's it, that's it, yield to me, boy, submit yourself-" Words fade in and out, the stretch and burn all he knows; interspersed with radiating pleasure as fingertips or knuckles graze the secret place within. It's almost too much to bear, but Fionnbharr is still whispering in his ear, still pressing kisses to his skin and biting his marks into his flesh- 

There's a sore spot above his hip and he knows it's yet another bruise; bitten and sucked into blooming for the man who put it there, demanding it rise in red and purple glory. There are teeth set into his thigh, nails dragging over his skin, and the inexorable thrust of two, now three fingers within him and gods it's too much, it's too much but not enough... not nearly- 

The loss is startling, aching, setting a desperate fire.   
"Domine-" Hazel eyes open wide, staring upwards, "Domine, please-" A hand covers his mouth as fingers are replaced with the slick head of his master's cock.  
"Quiet, little one, quiet... you'll have what you want." And then he is being pinned to the bed by his wrists, his master's breath against his throat, tongue dragged across his pulse as he's stretched wide around Fionnbharr's aching, throbbing cock.   
  
~*~  
  
It's so good is practically sinful. 

The boy's cries and moans are a delight, the unshed tears in his eyes a secret pleasure. The bruises and welts that cross his skin are like the planets in the night sky, and when he sets his fingers against them the way his slave's hips leave the bed is beautiful to behold. He is tight, and hot, and slick with oil; his flesh begging for every mark and every hard thrust of his hips. It very nearly breaks him to take the boy so slowly, to have a care for his youthful, untried body. So when Evander lies, at last, pliant beneath him, begging only for more, it is relief and joy to pick up his speed. To whisper filthy words in his ear, to breathe in the smell of him, of their sex, the sharp tang of pain and the metallic taste of his blood, rising from half a dozen bitemarks that have sunk a little too deep. 

~*~

The pleasure and the pain are nearly one and the same. There is nothing for him but Fionnbharr above him, his hands pinned to above his head, legs wrapped tight around the Gaul's hips- The pressure and the fullness, the deep aching slide of his body against his own, demanding, taking, without mercy. And always those words in his ear, " _mine, beautiful, perfect, yield, give in, good boy-_ " an endless litany of sexual filth and praise in equal measure. And, when he fears he can take no more, his Dominus' hand wrapped around him, stroking him off in time with the punishing rhythm of his hips.

~*~

The boy comes nearly the same time he does, spasming around him in the most unutterably delightful way. Whimpering, tears leaking from his eyes, trembling in his arms- He looks undone, fucked out, overwhelmed and it's beautiful, so achingly beautiful. When he has finished, he pulls the boy into his arms, pressing kisses to his skin and mouth; demanding he open for the Gaul to taste. He strokes him slowly, hand slick with his release until his boy, his Evander, is writhing in his arms and begging for him to stop. 

He stares down at him, lifting the hand to his lips to drag his tongue through the mess. The blush on the boy's face is worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

This storyline is going on hiatus for a bit, friends. 

 

The characters aren't quite meshing at the moment, and I'd rather not force things.

In the meantime, please feel free to enjoy any of my other works. _Sugar_ is going full steam ahead, and I'm hoping I'll be able to update _Dominus_ or _Elskede_ later this week.

I'm not abandoning this setting or the pairing, but I need a break.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaand we're back~ Have some more mush and a hint of things to come!!

_Possession_

 

Days pass in a pleasant haze of work, food, and sex. Evander grows more and more accustomed to the rigors of being Fionnbharr's only slave, house servant, bed slave, and forge assistant in one. His shoulders and back begin to take on the hard, toned look of one used to hard labor, and at night Fionnbhar's own scarred and calloused hands are gentle as he bandages new blisters and and helps to massage sore and aching muscles. Evander knows the relationship is an unusual one; that few might understand the affection the Centurion bears his slave; even if in many Patrician homes there are dozens; if not scores; like him. 

For his part, Fionnbharr is fast finding the lines of their partnership fuzzier and fuzzier as the weeks pass into months. Small gifts and forged items start to pile up to the extent that the blacksmith creates a carved and lacquered box for them to be kept in. Simple iron and silver ornaments, an ornately twisted and decorative annular cloak pin, and, once they have passed six months since Evander's sale, a silver ring with a simply carved carnelian. Fionnbharr passes it off as practice, as something he could not sell for its small flaws, but Evander knows better; and when his small wages have amassed the price, he buys a simple chain to wear it on, to keep with him and hidden safely beneath the collar of his tunic. 

~*~

The itch beneath his skin had been growing all the while Evander had been in his home. The easy blushes and ducked head, the sweet innocence in his eyes, and the way his body yielded to his desire added up to a very attractive whole in the Gaul's eyes. The years with the Third Legion and it's torture detachment stoking a fire in him that could hardly be quenched without some form of violence. With too much honor for back-alley brawls and tavern fights, and too much rank to try his hand as a gladiator, there was little available to him by legal means. And yet, as he thought of his slave's wide, doe eyes and smooth skin, the new-made muscle and the growing length of his hair, one seemed to present itself. For the sake of their attraction of the familiar affection between them, he would not simply spring it on the boy. All he could do was wait out the day, and ask. He returned to the forge and grasped the bellows in strong hands, in the meantime, there was work to be done.

~*~

"-ine? Fionn!" The Gaul started, looking up into the concerned eyes of his slave. "Apologies, Domine, but you would not respond-" A quaver appeared in his voice, and Fionnbharr reached out a soothing hand to catch his boy's wrist and pull him into his arms.  
"No need for apologies," he murmured, running a hand through the boy's lengthening hair. "What is it, Evander?" The boy blushed faintly, squirming in his grasp to look into his eyes.   
"I only asked if you were hungry, Domine. It's gone dark, or it will be soon-" 

It was true, the sun was setting as the slave spoke, and here he was, losing himself in thought as the forge fires died. He smiled briefly, releasing his slave and banked the fires properly with ash.  
"Aye, we should. Go inside, Evander, I'll be there shortly." Evander shot him a confused, concerned look before obeying, and Fionnbharr went about cleaning up the workshop and closing the shutters for the night. Time had escaped him in his afternoon reverie, and eventually he'd been lost in thought yet again. It was definitely time to have a talk with the boy.

~*~

The lamps were burning brightly in the kitchen when he entered, and the table had been set as always with their wooden and clay dishes and the few iron vessels Fionn had wrought. Evander was waiting, washed and bright, the ever-present amphora in his hands. As the slave served them both and sat quietly across from his Master, Fionn washed his hands in the basin and seated himself.   
"What do you know of my work with the Army?" He asked, without preamble, tearing off bread for them both. Evander blinked, taking the piece dumbly.   
"I... had not thought of it, Domine. I know only your trade now, and that you were an officer-" Fionnbharr nodded slowly, considering. This might be more difficult than he had expected.   
"I was with the Third Gallica, with their torture detachment," he said plainly, taking up the cup of wine and drinking slowly to steel himself for the look on his slave's face. It was, for better or worse, blank of emotion. "There are times I miss it. I was good at what I did, and I rarely lost a prisoner to the work that was not meant to be so. There are.... certain things, skills, that I miss the practice of-"

Evander's hands went still, the bread falling forgotten to the bowl below. Fear was a frisson along his spine, and the implication of his Dominus' words was a leaden weight in his stomach. _Torture... skills... things he wanted to do again? And as a slave, there was nothing he could do but to submit_ -  
"I... see, Domine," he swallowed, nails digging into the wood of the table. "If I have displeased you, if you seek to punish me, I will submit-" 

Fionnbharr's hands closed over his, warm and careful as his words.  
"You have in no way displeased me, Evander. And this. This is nothing like a punishment; it is not for things you have done, nor will do. It simply... is." As sweet as the fear in his eyes was, the thought that Evander could be so scared of him was an uneasy feeling. He only prayed he had not crushed something fragile in his poor explanation. "I am a man accustomed to violence. It is in my nature to be so... to inflict hurt, to derive satisfaction from it. It is a part of me, and one I have long since contained where you are concerned. I may continue to do so... but there must be another outlet for this needing, Evander. If you will not, I will find another way." 

It was as close as the Gaul could come to admitting he cared for the boy as he dared, and he hoped Evander would take it as such. He was to be disappointed. The boy pushed himself backwards and hit his knees, quick and painful pleas rising like prayers to the Gaul's ears.   
"Please, Domine, I beg you, do not sell me! I will do as you ask, only... please... do not give me to another-" Evander had little time to plead before Fionnbharr was pulling him to his feet, and wrapping him in his arms, the wine and food forgotten on the table in the interest of soothing the boy. 

"Hush, Evander, hush... you have done nothing wrong, you have done nothing for which I would sell you, or send you away. I would sooner free you than sell you. There are few as pleasing and eager to please as you in this world, and that is a rare gift in a slave." Slowly, the boy stilled in his arms, the trembling subsiding into unsteady breaths and tremulous acceptance.   
"But, Domine-" A gentle, calloused hand was laid across his mouth, and Fionnbharr shook his head.   
"I am doing this badly, I fear. I would not harm you, Evander, at least... in no way permanent that I could avoid. But if I must find another to bear my violent nature, I will, for the sake of your peace and ease with me." That too, was as dangerous an admission as the Gaul could permit himself, and it toed the line he dared not cross. "It is a need, but not one so great that I would cause you to despise me for it. If I must buy another, to keep in the forge and away from your presence, I will have done as soon as may be.... but I would rather it were you. It is a different sort of lust, I think, this one for blood and pain, but I would see you in extremis.... and watch you overcome it, or submit to it, if you are agreeable." 

Slow understanding bloomed in Evander's chest. The heavy weight replaced with something different and equally as weighty. The certain and sure knowledge of his Owner's regard, and the depths to which he would sink in order to spare him such an experience was a strange thing. That he would buy another to spare him, keep him where his cries might not reach... something very like jealousy surged within him and he found himself shaking his head.  
"No, please, Domine... If you must do such a thing, I would do my best to bear it. For sake of you." 

His answer was to be pulled closer still, and his Master's kiss upon his brow.  
"What a treasure you are, my Evander.... as you wish."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get bloody~
> 
> CW: Blood, torture, historically appropriate D/s and S&M with a heavy dose of B~

_Extremis_

 

The world was not even grey with dawn when Fionnbharr woke him. Three days had gone since their last conversation over a forgotten cena, and Evander had been lulled into security again with gentle touches and kind words. The hand over his nose and mouth woke him when he could not breath, hands pulling uselessly at the strong arms that held him to the mattress. His eyes sought for Fionnbharr's in the dark, but in only a few moments he was dizzy and fainting against the bolsters. Fionnbharr rose above him, unseen by his insensate slave, and bound his hands tightly together before affixing a blindfold and a gag. The wrap around his hips would be his only covering in the pre-dawn chill, and the thought warmed Fionnbharr considerably. It was going to be a good day.

~*~

Evander stumbled along, disoriented and scared. The clank of chains and the sound of footsteps were all he could hear, other than distant bird calls as the world began to wake. They climbed some hill, the cobbles gave way to smooth stone beneath his bare feet. All he knew was aching muscles from the long walk, and that the feel of the air was cleaner here without the stink of butchers shops and tanneries as in the Aventine. He could not guess where he had been taken, nor even if it was still Fionnbharr who led him through the streets. The metal of his collar was heavy against his neck, one more weight to remind him who and what he was. Even if he had thought to ask questions of his captor, the gag would prove his efforts useless. 

He had woken from his faint in the process of being pushed down some stairs; what might have been the stair to their courtyard but who could say? And the pushed out into the street, the shackles that bound him clinking with the movement of his steps. The chain was tugged, and he turned, feeling the shadow of some arch or another and the glow of sun beyond. He could just hear lowered voices speaking quietly, one of whom was familiar somehow, before he was led away; the sound of a door closing heavily coming from behind him. He shivered, fearing what was to come.

~*~

As soon as Evander had fainted, Fionnbhar had worked quickly to bind and cover his slave for decency's sake and haul him from bed, and down into their courtyard. He had just made it part way down the stairs when Evander had begun to stir. It would have to do. He shoved him through the gateway and out into the street, beginning the long, two mile slow climb towards the Caelian Hill. 

He had been in infrequent contact with Evander's original owner, one Justinian Titus of the Claudii, and a Legatus of the Thirteenth legion. Having shared his penchant for violence, and in need of similar outlets, the Roman had offered the use of his cells and the basements of his house on the Caelian Hill while his family summered elsewhere in the heat. Fionnbharr remembered only something about a villa in Capua, and was content in it. The sun was just rising beyond the horizon when they reached it. It was his younger slave Marius who opened the door, and Fionnbharr handed over the letter bearing his Dominus' seal, authorizing his use of the house in its lord's absence. Marius only read the missive, bowed, and closed the door behind the officer and his slave before showing them the way. Keeping his voice low, in respect of the Centurion's wishes. 

~*~

 There was the sound of doors opening, echoing footsteps in what might have been a stone hall, and then stairs. Hands on his shoulders forcing him down away from the light. He might have cried out, but for the gag and the vague sense of trust. _Trust that Fionnbharr knew where he was, would come for him, had to be in some way responsible for this-_ those thoughts followed him into the dark.

The sudden chill away from the sunlight was abrupt, and it threw him off enough that it was a shock when those same hands shoved him against a wall and gripped the shackles, attaching them in some way above his head. A ratcheting sound began, and he was lifted higher and away from the wall, to rise onto his toes, in terror at the thought of being lifted higher still, to hang from his wrists. _More chains? It must be so; nothing sounds quite like metal on metal_ \- he thought, desperately, until the slave found himself balancing on the balls of his feet, arms stretched over his head, trembling in the cool air. A door slammed shut somewhere, and everything was dark and silence save for the harsh pants of his panicked breath and the distant drip of water.

~*~

 Fionnbharr watched from a corner as Marius took over for a few, brief moments. He'd been sure to take clean streets from the Aventine, and he was certain that while Evander might be footsore and weary, he had not been injured by his barefoot trek through the city. Here, in the dungeon below the Praefectus' Domus, here... he could unleash every Fury upon his slave in relative comfort. His own, specifically. Somehow he quite doubted that Evander would feel very comfortable for some time.

The leather-wrapped roll of tools hit the scarred oak table with an audible thump, and he unrolled it quickly; revealing the multitude of tools and implements of his trade. He sighed softly, running a hand across the wooden and leather-bound handles, his blood a roar in his ears. Across the room, Evander hovered on his toes, at least knowing not to struggle unduly or risk losing his balance. He looked incredible, so. The new muscles in his arms and shoulders standing out in stark relief as they tightened and bunched to keep him upright on the cold stone floor. A drain was close before him, doubtless for the various bodily fluids that would or could escape such a prisoner... it was unlikely that it would see any such use today. 

As Fionnbharr pulled one such tool from its place, the rasp of metal on leather caught his boy's ear. His head lifted, and he stumbled sideways, swinging from the chains for a moment before somehow finding his balance. Fionnbharr smiled slowly, unseen by his slave. He looked like a newborn deer, fighting to keep its feet, and the image appealed. _Well. This should be fun, at least~_

_~*~_

A sudden noise caught his attention and Evander could no longer fight the need to move, to attempt to escape. He hauled at the chains as his feet went from under him, terror in his veins turning his blood to ice.   
"Please! D-don't, don't hurt me-" he would have brought his hands before him, to plead, but with that movement his balance was lost completely. The shackles around his wrists kept him from falling far, the winch on the wall unrolled all of three links before it stopped, halting his descent. "Please, sir, whoever you are- I beg you..." He sawed at the chains, rubbing metal across his flesh as he struggled upright, to the same precarious balance. Evander stepped backwards, and into a warm wall of solid muscle.

A hand tangled in his hair, yanking his back and the point of a blade found the corner of his jaw and pressed inwards, drawing a whimpering hiss from between the slave's teeth.   
"Please-" A quiet laugh sounded in his ear, cold and chilling in its utter lack of humor.  
"Do you think begging will free you, little one?" It was difficult to recognize, the fear driving him now more than any other emotion, but it coiled someplace in his chest and he knew, suddenly, who it was that held him. And, just as certain, what the answer was.   
"No, Domine.... begging will not save me." 

Fionnbharr's hand gripped yet tighter, holding him still and steady as the knife's tip dragged slowly, stinging, from his jaw to the hollow of his throat, and down yet further to be pressed against his armpit.   
"That is well, as no amount of begging or pleading from you will sway me, boy." The knife twisted, and a few hairs fell away. Fionnbharr smiled, teeth flashing in the torchlight. "You belong to me, and to no other. It's time I reminded you of that." 

~*~

The razor sounded like dried leaves in the wind as they scraped across his flesh. First beneath the arms, digging into every little hollow as the hair was shaved away, across his chest and further still. The linen was almost worse, as it was ripped from him, falling away to leave him utterly bare before his Master. Warm hands groped and caressed him roughly, finding every secret shame and untouched inch before disappearing again entirely. 

The warm water was a shock, the oil a second, before the sharp blade was being dragged across his most sensitive flesh. He held as still as he could, but it was long, long moments before the knife was taken away and a large bucket or basin was being upended over him, chilling and yet washing away the mess. Evander hung there, shivering, listening to the sound of Fionnbharr's soldiers' boots receding across the floor. It felt vulnerable, almost like abandonment, and his eyes pricked beneath the blindfold. He tightened his shoulders, hands clenching in the restraints, determined not to display such a weakness; knowing with a slow, sinking feeling that this was, indeed, just the beginning.

~*~

Something hissed beside his ear, and Evander jerked to the other side, just in time to feel the heavy, stinging weight of leather falls striking across his shoulders. Fionnbharr smirked, watching his response with pleasure coiling like a snake through him. He dragged the flogger down across his skin, the falls spreading over his flesh as he pulled it from shoulder, to back, and down to swipe lazily at the boy's pertly curved ass.   
"You've seen a Cat used before, boy. You know what that does to a man..." He hummed quietly, eyes hungry for every twitch and disbelieving whine from behind the gag. "You know what it is to watch the thongs strike flesh, what glass and metal can do.... what thorns tear asunder, don't you, little lamb...." He was practically purring, the scent of terror sweet in his lungs. He pressed up against his slave's back, dragging his nails from throat to hip, leaving red marks behind that stung and burned.  
"You'd not want to feel something like that, would you pretty thing... of course not~ So you'll obey," He growled, biting at his shoulder roughly. The boy yelped behind the linen, wrenching in his grasp, but Fionnbharr just tightened his grip, sinking his teeth deeper into his flesh, hand gripping his hip firmly. "You'll obey me, and follow every order, and kiss my feet that I am not a cruel man, that I praise and pet you, give you all your heart desires.... that I care for you, and bathe you with my own hands.... instead of beat and berate you, my property."

He pushed Evander from his arms, and the boy stumbled, finding his feet much quicker, panic written across his face. Fionnbharr only laughed, soft and sure. "Ahh... that's it. Terrifying, isn't it, little one? To be so disoriented, so disheartened.... so very, very lost. Even if you could escape, where would you go? Where would you run, little boy? This is Rome! Rome, glory of the world, where could a slave run where he would not be found, hunted to ground, and dragged back to me, screaming?" He reached out, caressing his face; sweetness so wrong after the truth in his heartless words. "There is no place for you, no hole in which you could hide from me, Evander." He pulled away, slapping him across the cheek; watching the pale skin redden under the blow. "Do not try to escape me. I will always find you." 

Evander only whined behind the gag, wishing he could touch the skin, alleviate the sting, but there was nothing. Nothing but the dark and the man over him and the terrible power he wielded with ease and lust born of experience. He nodded, head bowed, acquiescent. Fionnbharr's rough hand slid lightly across his skin, pressing hard against his jaw as he forced his face up and pulled the gag away before he kissed him thoroughly, harsh and demanding.   
"You belong to me, Evander, never dare forget it." He kissed him again, a second and a third time, and almost Evander could lose himself in it, the possessive, harsh desire in it- but then the first blows fell, and his world was pain.

~*~

The blows were hard, and rhythmic where they fell across his shoulders, striping the skin and turning the whole of it red from arms to hips. The flogger was heavy, solid leather, and its many falls at least saved him from the sting and burn of something thinner, and meaner. After some time it became a rhythm he fell into, body rocking into the blows. It felt almost like being punched, save that there was no ache of throbbing, injured bones or much of anything but the same slow, methodical stroke after stroke laid across his flesh. Every so often, one would land differently, wrapping across his ribs to snap across his chest, or to crack across the globes of his ass instead. His arms began to tremble, his legs to ache as it went on, and on, for what felt like hours but was, in reality, only a half. 

He came to himself with a harsh cry, Fionnbharr's short nails digging into his hips, yanking him backwards against his chest. The feel of roughspun against his sore flesh was agony, and he writhed, tears flowing from beneath the blindfold tied across his face. Those same nails were dragged upwards, slotting between his ribs and dig in, and in, until the skin felt as though it might rend in two- and always it stopped just before he would have begged, or screamed, for mercy-

The cold of the knife was almost a relief, even as he cried and struggled to stay still. And yet his muscles twitched, unable to bear much more... and still Fionnbharr forced him to bear it, and still more. The blade dragged across his shoulders in fine lines that somehow, some way, did not bleed, even as the point was dug deeper into his skin, even as his clever fingers found bundles of nerves and pressure points that made him scream and shout to feel them- Even as Fionnbharr's voice in his ear became his only tether to the world. Somewhere along the line the blindfold was removed, and even if his eyes were mostly clenched shut in fear and pain, the bits he did see were enough to scare him further, as the Centurion had known they would. 

Delirious and shaking, he was dragged back again and again into the Gaul's arms, teeth catching his skin, tongue laving across his stinging flesh, lips catching his ear, whispering praise and degradation in equal measure as he took, and took, and took.... 

Finally, when he thought he could bear no more, Fionnbharr pulled the chain yet higher, and set about selecting the smallest and sharpest of his knives. Evander watched, still and trembling, with toes that only barely reached the floor, as his Dominus approached.  
"Be still, boy.... and perhaps this won't hurt nearly so much." 

~*~

When he was finished, Evander's thigh bore the mark of his Master, and ink had been smeared into the many thin, arching lines. It had been bandaged as well, and the boy let down enough for his feet to reach the floor completely at last, his chest bent forward, and his arms stretched out behind. No matter how he pleaded, Fionnbharr seemed to pay no mind, only sliding a hand across his back slowly, soothing some small amount of the hurt while he slicked his cock and slid into his slave with a low groan.   
"You've... done well," he managed, fucking him mercilessly in the chains. Hands digging into his hips and tugging at his hair as he took his release. "Such...ngh, such a good boy you are- My Evander-" He came with a growl, teeth finding some unmarked spot to bite and suck a large, red bruise into his skin before he released him from his bonds. 

The slave sank to his knees, shaking, and Fionnbharr left him only to fetch the heavy, cotton blanket from its place and wrap it around the boy. He held him close for long moments, pushing the hair from his eyes and carefully removing the gag that had kept him from speaking from around his neck. The Centurion pressed kisses to his brow, and let the boy fall apart in his arms, until he was ready and able to stand once more.   
"You did better than I had expected," he admitted softly, the slave bowing his head, still shy and still disoriented. "I am proud of you, Evander. Thank you, my treasure." His answer was Evander's hand, slipping carefully into his own, and squeezing.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Historically Inclined:   
> We're going to pretend that the Auxiliary legions with Caesar provided Diploma; legal Roman citizenship (with or without the right to vote and hold public office); before Emperor Claudius.   
> 1: because I need it for this plot to work long-term, basically,   
> 2: because it's a super neat detail of Roman History, and   
> 3: because it appears he might have only REGULARIZED the practice and not originated it. However the first one we have, is from Claudius' time period.... so. I'm fudging details~
> 
> For the sake of it, we'll fudge even further, and call Fionnbharr a soldier of the Legio III Gallica; the Third Gallic Legion; and go with the supposition that they were recruited primarily of Gauls. Considering his long time in the military in order to gain his freedom and citizenship, we're also making him a Centurion. Because I prefer officer uniforms, he needs the right amount of capital to build a Smithy, and because I Said So. Also if he'd been in the army twenty years and hadn't at least gotten to Centurion, I'd be pissed. So~
> 
> As we know, according to ROME, there was a torture contingent with the Third Legion, and a blacksmith would have fit right in. Tools of the trade, upkeep, ect. Anything else that seems a bit out of place or not-quite-accurate can by my ass. This is historical fantasy for a reason, and even the most well-read person makes mistakes. I'm only human.


End file.
